The Umbrella Man
by Darkfangz13
Summary: "I might've told them your dad was the Umbrella Assassin." Lestrade said with a theatrical grimace, then he carefully deadpanned, lowering his gaze to the dead man at his feet. "I'm just hoping I haven't actually told them anything useful."


The Umbrella Man

Lestrade groaned, forcing himself to open his eyes. The throbbing headache and massive egg-like swelling on his head added to a grey cell-like surrounding didn't help his spirits any. He shifted from his postition, sitting on the concrete ground, arms tied with some kind of sturdy cord. All his attempts to free himself proved useless.

He sighed, slouching against the wall. Kidnapped. Must be Thursday.

Just then, the metal door was flung open with an ear-splitting 'clang' and two men stauntered in. The first man was a short and stout man with a whisp of thinning hair and a flabby second chin. He strutted with an air that exclaimed 'look at me! I've caught you! Arn't I fabulous!' and he really -_honestly_- thought so of himself if his flashy white blazer and flamboyant Hawaiian print undershirt was any indication. Lestrade duly decided to name him 'the Fat Man'. Obvious, but easy to remember.

Lestrade squinted his eyes at the man and decided that the second man might be more interesting.

The second man was large and ugly, like an ogre of Japanese folklore. Lestrade briefly wondered what the man would look like with only one eye... like a cyclops. Though, it was obvious that the ogre-like man wasn't hired for his looks. He was well muscled and gripped a gun in his large, strong hands. And his skin, what parts Lestrade could see, was marred with scars. Lestrade mentally labeled him as 'Ogre'.

Alright, time to face the music.

"Who're you, then?" Lestrade asked them irrately.

"Who we are is of no matter to you, Detective Inspector Lestrade." the stout man spat from between his thick, purple-ish lips. He motioned for someone outside to bring in a chair. "In fact, you should be grateful I'm meeting with you, at all." he continued, sitting down on the chair provided, immediately obscuring the furniture from view with his fat body.

"_Grateful_...?" Lestrade voiced incredulously, then shook his head resignedly. "Yeah, okay, grateful." he said sarcastically. "Why am I here, to begin with?"

The Fat Man didn't need to talk, Lestrade and the Ogre knew that. The man spoke, nontheless, despite his bodyguard's warning looks. "You're here as a bargaining chip." he told Lestrade.

"A bargaining chip?" Lestrade parrotted, wondering how much he'd hear before the Fat Man realized that it wasn't such a good idea to tell Lestrade what was going on.

"Yes, you see, we've heard from a reliable source that Mycroft Holmes has only two weak points." The sack of lard let Lestrade hang in suspense.

There was silence for a moment. Lestrade finally rolled his eyes. "Which are?" he asked, per expectations.

The man held up one finger. "His younger brother, Sherlock Holmes." Another finger was raised. "And Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade." He peered down at Lestrade, obviously enjoying the height advantage. "You."

Lestrade knew that the only reason the bodyguard hadn't spoken up yet was because the Fat Man was too vain to take being interrupted lightly. "You want something from Mycroft and you think he'll give it to you as long as you have me." The Fat Man nodded, no doubt, feeling clever. Lestrade was silent for a moment. "What is it?"

"Information, plain an simple." The Fat Man told him. "Tell me about Mycroft Holmes."

Lestrade's eyebrows quirked a bit in amusement. There was just too much to say about Mycroft Holmes, and yet, in the end you would still be wondering if you knew anything about him at all. Lestrade opened his mouth to tell him so, but was cut off preemptively by the door opening and another, ferret-faced, man poked his head inside. "We have established contact with Mycroft Holmes, Sir." he squeaked and disappeared just as quickly as he had come.

The Fat Man scowled at the closed door and heaved himself up onto his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. "Excuse me, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I have a very important man waiting on me." He straightened the lapels of his blazer and waddled out.

The Ogre looked just a little bit relieved at the man's exit. "Tough luck, mate." Lestrade grimaced at him sympathetically.

"Tell me about it." the Ogre grunted back, then, as if just realizing that he shouldn't be talking to the hostage, glared and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

"Ooh, that's just childish!" Lestrade groaned at the piercing pain the noise presented on his aching head. He hoped Mycroft would get here soon.

* * *

"Mister Holmes, what I am asking for is a simple favor." Lestrade heard the Fat Man say impatiently on the phone as the Ogre and another henchmen, if they could be called that, led him into the room. "Then, Mister Holmes," the Fat Man said, seeing Lestrade brought in. "let me give you a little incentive."

The phone was brought to the side of Lestrade's face though his tied hands did not allow him to hold it. "Hello?" he called as calmly as ever.

_"Gregory?"_ A voice on the other end inquired politely.

Lestrade was never more glad to hear Mycroft's voice.

"You bastard." Lestrade growled, more frusterated than angry. "Stop dragging me into your troubles."

_"Are you unharmed?"_ Mycroft asked.

"Well, I suppose they've clubbed me a bit around the head when they kidnapped me. But it's nothing serious... I think." With that short conversation finished with, the Fat Man whipped the phone away and resumed speaking.

"There. I hope I have reminded you of what is at stake here, Mister Holmes. The hostage is not harmed too badly... yet. You can save him a great deal of pain." It seemed like Mycroft had insisted on speaking to Lestrade again because the phone found itself at Lestrade's head again.

_"Gregory?"_ Mycroft called out crisply and coolly. _"Please duck."_

Lestrade didn't have to be told twice. He released all the strength in his legs suddenly and collapsed limply to the floor with the Ogre reaching after him instinctively.

There was a 'crack' of a gunshot and the Ogre screamed, clutching at his side.

As if on cue, Lestrade heard the familiar noise of a metallic cylinder rolling on the ground and a smoke screen obscured his vision. There were the obligatory shouts of panic and groans of pain paired up with things bumping around in the white smoke, but Lestrade stayed still on the ground, curling himself into a ball. Naturally, it wouldn't be of much help in altering the course of a bullet, but in the circumstances, Lestrade was more worried about someone trodding on him.

Several minutes later, the noise died down and the smoke cleared. Lestrade raised his head and glanced around. "Anybody dead?" he asked.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" A man wearing a bulletproof vest with 'S.W.A.T' stenciled on the front and back called out to him.

"Present!" Lestrade yelled back hoarsely, coughing smoke out of his lungs.

"With us, Sir, if you will!" the S.W.A.T officer called, beckoning as he barked out orders into his radio.

Lestrade struggled to his feet in his still bound state and staggered over, muttering apologies when he accidentally trod on something fleshy. "Sir!" The S.W.A.T officer screamed suddenly, reaching for his firearm.

Lestrade instinctively hit the ground again before he even knew what the man was aiming at. There was a dull-sounding 'thud' behind him and he turned.

The Ogre was rolling on the ground in pain... again, this time sporting a newer wound although Lestrade could not see where the wound was. He pushed himself up to his knees and watched as the man mumbled incoherently in what Lestrade guessed to be Russian. Then he closed his eyes, shuddered, and lay still.

"Are you quite alright, Gregory?" Mycroft was standing over the Ogre, calm and collected as always. Lestrade thought it quite moving, really, the sight of his lover in his usual three piece suit, untouched by the dust and mayhem surrounding them. Lestrade made a mental note to ask Mycroft if he had some protective shield with him to keep his suit as clean as it was, he himself was dust-covered and dirty.

And the man's umbrella, the one he always wore on his arm, was cradled comfortably in his hand with the tip resting lightly on the floor. There was a slightly bloodied needle protruding from the tip that had not been there before. Lestrade_ knew _the umbrella had to be used for something beyond protection from the elements!

"Gregory?" Mycroft called out worriedly when the detective did not answer the first time. He strode quickly and purposefully to Lestrade's side and knelt, cutting him free with a pocket knife. Now his suit was dirty, Lestrade had to think wryly, gazing at the man's soiled knees.

"Uh, yeah, fine." he stammered, rubbing his raw wrists as Mycroft gripped him by his arms firmly, raising him to his feet.

"Are you harmed?" Mycroft asked him, peering into his eyes. Whether he was looking for any indication that Lestrade might hide some injury from him, or if he was checking the state of his pupils, Lestrade couldn't tell.

"Nah, just a few bumps and scrapes." Lestrade shrugged. "Who are they anyway? I think they wanted information on you."

"Oh, just one of many enemies." Mycroft rolled his eyes, sighing. "Have you told them anything?"

"I might've told them your dad was the Umbrella Assassin." Lestrade joked with a theatrical grimace, then he carefully deadpanned, lowering his gaze to the dead man at his feet. "I'm just hoping I haven't actually told them anything useful." He raised his gaze to stare at Mycroft incredulously. "You killed him... with your brolly." He didn't know whether he should be mortified by the fact, or if he should burst out laughing. He settled for a mask of blankness.

Mycroft simply twisted the handle of his umbrella, retracting the poisoned needle on the false tip and brushed imaginary dirt off the umbrella's silky surface. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"Really, though, isn't this a bit over-kill for apprehending a small kidnapping group of four-or-five?" Lestrade asked, eyebrow raised, looking around at the rather intimidating team of task officers. "I mean, the only thing more dramatic you could've done was arrive by fucking helicopters, guns blazing. Or burst up through the basement and let them wonder how the Hell you got there in the first place."

Mycroft chuckled at him and guided Lestrade out of the building with a comforting hand on his back. "I'll save that thought for a rainy day, Gregory." He then finally let out a sigh of relief at successfully getting Lestrade back safely.

Lestrade took that chance to look around at the green fields that surrounded them. "We're a fair bit from home, arn't we?" he chuckled humorlessly, gazing far away. The green stretched out farther than he could see. "I was supposed to help oversee some team building exercises today with the newer officers today, you know." he blurted after a quiet moment.

Mycroft regarded him with an unreadable gaze of someone far greater in age than he. "I'm sorry you had to get caught up in this." he apologized quietly, almost meekly.

"Are you kidding? You've just saved me a whole day's worth of handling crazy new kids on too much caffeine, _I_ should be thanking _you_." Lestrade tried to joke but the attempt fell flat. "Donovan's got a younger brother just graduating the academy. She wanted me to meet him, said he's got a good nose for fishy suspects."

They stood there for a few minutes staring at nothing in particular. Mycroft shot Lestrade a sidelong glance. The man seemed to be in a bit of shock, not surprising, really. He could get him checked out at a hospital even before the paramedics arrived.

Lestrade suddenly turned on his heel and began walking toward Mycroft's car, parked a short distance away, cutting off his line of thought. "Gregory?" Mycroft turned and followed slowly, trailing behind. Keeping close but giving him a bit of space.

Lestrade stopped, tapping a finger on the top of Mycroft's car, a thoughtful look on his face. "He said you had only two weak points." he spoke softly, then smiled slowly and entered the car, not offering anymore information as to what he meant by that.

Mycroft shrugged and followed, entering the car a moment after him. He sat close beside Lestrade and wrapped an arm around him, pressing him close gently. Lestrade relaxed tremendously and laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder, eyes flickering open and closed slowly. "I'm glad you're safe." Mycroft murmured into Lestrade's silver hair.

"Me too, Mycroft." Lestrade nodded slowly. "Me too."

The End


End file.
